


Don't Stop

by Mazuku



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hero Worship, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazuku/pseuds/Mazuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the serum, Steve has had a lot of…energy. The kind that can’t be burned off by any amount of exercise or fighting. The kind you can only get rid of one way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Stop

Ever since the serum, Steve has had a lot of…energy. The kind that can’t be burned off by any amount of exercise or fighting. The kind you can only get rid of one way. It sounds fun in theory, but in practice it sucks lying awake late at night, completely unable to sleep around the ache in his groin. Jerking off doesn’t help – it just makes it worse. It was fine back in the forties – wasn’t hard to find a girl when you toured with fifty of them, wasn’t hard to find a guy in an army camp, but now…well, now he’s living in the modern age it’s a little different. Now the spotlight shines a lot harder on him and he knows how horrified the world would be to find out that their favourite hero has the sex drive of ten men. In any case the self-denial, the secrecy, the overwhelming physical tension, they’re driving him insane. 

So that’s why, when Phil Coulson starts to clumsily, shyly flirt with him, Steve responds with uncharacteristic verve. Usually he doesn’t go for that touchy-feely, softly-softly kind of thing. It makes him uncomfortable. It makes him feel stupid. But for Phil – for the promise of someone kind in his bed, someone to sate his urges, someone he can trust – he does his best. 

“I never did sign those cards for you, Agent Coulson. You should bring them over some time.” And Phil does. And he has to know what Steve’s intending, and maybe he’s hoping for the same thing, because he turns up at Steve’s door a few days after the invitation in a clean-cut blue shirt wearing some kind of smoky, spicy aftershave that makes Steve’s pulse speed up all by itself. 

“Captain Rogers. Ah, good evening. I hope I’m not disturbing you? It’s just…those cards…well, you probably don’t remember…” 

“Of course I remember! Bring them in, I was just watching some TV. Still catching up on all the shows I missed.” 

Phil follows. Steve lets his hips sway a little. Stretches, pretends to yawn. It’s probably some animal thing. Displaying your feathers to attract a mate – well, in Steve’s case it’s an excellent pair of glutes, but it’s the same principle. He taps his hands against the top of the door frame as he walks into the sitting room, stretching up to reach it so that his t-shirt rides up over his hips. He hopes Phil is enjoying the view, and certainly when he stops by his sofa and turns, the other man seems a touch more pink around the cheeks than he was before. 

“Seems a bit crazy, you know. My face on a trading card.” 

“After…well, after your plane crashed…they were very popular…” 

“Right.” There’s a pause. A breath, a second. Their eyes meet. Phil looks so…hopeful. Steve wonders if he looks as hungry and desperate as he feels. “You want to take a seat?” 

“Oh. Of course. Thank you.” 

Phil sits. Steve sits. Too close, but Phil doesn’t move away. “Can I see them?” 

“Sorry?” 

“The cards. Can’t sign them if I can’t see them.” 

“Oh, of course.” Phil is holding his briefcase on his lap with both hands, like he doesn’t quite know where to put it. Like he needs something to hide behind just in case. He clicks it open and among the paperwork is a small folder. 

The cards are in perfect condition. One or two are browning a little at the corners, but for the most part they’re pristine. Pictures of Steve. Close up, far out, from the front, from the back. An admiring album entirely devoted to him, held carefully in Phil’s hands. 

“Blast from the past,” He says softly. 

“Some of them are pretty rare,” Phil replies, his voice just as quiet. 

Seconds tick by. Somewhere in the middle of them Steve looks up. Phil is staring down at the cards. He looks petrified. More petrified than you would expect if he hadn’t come with any greater expectation than getting his cards signed. “Did you spend a long time collecting them?” 

“Few years,” Phil says nonchalantly. “I think mine’s the only complete collection in the world now.” 

Steve can’t resist. He leans closer, until his arm brushes up against Phil’s, until he can smell that delicious aftershave again. “I guess it’s flattering. You know, you liking this old face of mine enough to collect it.” 

“You were…are…my biggest hero.” 

And that’s it. Steve can’t stand it any longer. They both want it, he figures, and Phil is clearly too hesitant to make the first move. He lunges for him, crushes their lips together. There’s a second’s awkward fumble as he twists his body for a better angle. One of Phil’s hands clutches at his shoulder, and if he were a lesser man it might bruise. They kiss again. Harder. Hotter. Steve’s entire body burns in anticipation and when he comes up for air he’s panting and the cards lie forgotten on the sofa cushion by Phil’s thigh. 

“I…uh, I…” 

This is no time for discussion. Steve drags Phil to his feet, kisses him again, and says: “Bedroom’s this way. You coming?” One last chance. After this Steve isn’t planning on stopping to think for a while. 

Phil doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Please. I…” 

Steve kisses him to forestall any kind of second thoughts, and when Phil moans low in his throat in response he can hardly contain himself. Kissing, guiding, occasionally dragging, he leads Phil to the bedroom, to the bed, and pulls the older man down on top of himself. The friction is intense and wonderful and he can’t help but roll his hips up just to feel a solid, warm body against his own. He knows he’s losing control already, but he’s past caring – it’s been so long. 

He runs his hands all over Phil, up and down his back, through his hair, down onto his backside. Snatching at him, pulling him close, grinding their bodies together and kissing him over and over until the whole world is nothing more than a dizzy blur.

“Captain…Steve…” Steve makes an indignant noise of protest when Phil pulls away from him, reaching for the back of the other man’s neck to drag him down again. “Wait…Steve…can I…can I call you Steve?” 

“You can call me anything you want,” Steve replies. 

“Are you sure…about this? I mean…” 

“I wasn’t planning on stopping.” 

Phil exhales softly, breath shaking. “Good.” His hands are shaking too as he runs feather-light fingers down Steve’s chest over his shirt. He gets to the bottom, hesitates for a heartbeat, then slips his hand underneath the fabric, spreading it out over the flat expanse of Steve’s stomach. It’s impossible not to arch up into the touch, it feels so good. Without even thinking about it Steve grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up, exposing every inch for Phil to go right on touching. 

“Can I…?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, without even knowing what he’s agreeing to. The feel of Phil’s skin against his own is dizzying, and it only becomes more intense when the other man replaces his dry, cool fingers with his hot, eager tongue, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against Steve’s tense abdomen. “Oh God,” He says through the haze. “Don’t stop!” 

The kisses taper off – from his stomach to his breastbone, up to his neck. “I won’t,” Phil whispers in his ear, and the sensation of it sends a shudder all the way down Steve’s spine. He is seized by a sudden, desperate need and sits up, reshuffling Phil’s weight as he drags his t-shirt up and off and makes a determined grab for the front of his lover’s shirt. He’s undone the first three buttons when Phil sinks his teeth into his neck. It feels so nice that Steve’s eyes shutter closed and he hears himself make a high-pitched whining noise. 

“It’s good?” 

“It’s good,” He says, feeling as if only the most tenuous thread is keeping him coherent. He undoes another of Phil’s buttons, but his hands are so unsteady he isn’t sure he can do the rest. “Can I…?” Now it’s his turn to ask for something vague, and Phil is just as eager. 

“Anything,” He says. 

It is so deeply satisfying to take the front of Phil’s shirt and tear it apart. To feel the thread holding the buttons down resist and then snap. To feel the other man tense, gasp. Maybe no-one’s ever done that to him before, or maybe he was expecting something a bit more gentle. Steve folds his arms around Phil’s waist and kisses him again, hungry and desperate. 

When Phil pulls away for a second time, Steve thinks for one terrible moment that he wants to stop. He’s breathing heavily, looks half stunned, but then he leans in again and bites lower down Steve’s neck, where it meets his shoulder, and in that moment Steve loses it completely. “I need…oh God, I have to…” He fumbles for his zipper, wishes he’d worn jogging pants instead, whimpers as Phil bites him again in just the right place and gives up gratefully when much steadier hands shoo his own out of the way. He doesn’t care that the angle is awkward and he doesn’t care if Phil has to contort himself to reach. All he cares about is the teeth against his skin, the hand around his cock and the building, rushing, overwhelming desire consuming him. 

It’s glorious. 

“Fuck!” He gasps, clinging to the slack back of Phil’s shirt, grabbing under it, finding a slim waist. His hands scrabble for purchase, for something concrete to hold onto as Phil redoubles his efforts, switching to the other side of Steve’s neck and biting down hard. “Oh God!” 

It doesn’t take much after that. It’s been so long, and Phil is touching him in all the right ways, all the right places. When he comes it isn’t even a word that comes out of his mouth, just a loud, sobbing cry. He digs his fingers into Phil’s back – if he had nails, it would probably scratch – and lets the all-consuming wave of pleasure surround him. 

Eventually he opens his eyes. Still panting, sweating, still holding onto Phil for dear life. It takes a second for his muscles to remember what they’re supposed to do, and then he moves his fingers. Strokes an inch up, an inch down. “Thanks,” He says, his voice hoarse. Maybe ‘thanks’ isn’t quite the right word, but it’s the best his hazy mind can come up with. He looks down and finds Phil nestled against him, face pressed to his neck. From the sharp rise and fall of his back Steve can see he’s pretty worked up himself. And, as selfish as he is in the moment, he would never let someone go unfinished. 

“Hey,” He says softly. “You want me to give you a hand?” 

Phil shifts a little, shakes his head. “It was enough,” He says softly. “Just to watch you.” He sighs. Steve feels the rush of breath against his skin and shivers. “The only trouble is that now my pants are ruined as well as my shirt.” 

“I guess next time we should strip before we get to the bed, huh?” 

“Mmhm,” Phil agrees. Then he sits up. His cheeks are red now, rather than pink, but he looks happy. Satisfied. “You know, for a while I wasn’t sure if you were flirting with me or just being friendly.” 

“I’m not very good at it.” Phil raises an eyebrow. “Flirting. You know. Coming up with smart things to say.” 

“Steve, you’re 6”2 and you could bench-press a rhinoceros. You don’t need to be a comic genius as well.” Phil laughs. Not in a mean way – he seems genuinely entertained by the idea of Captain America having confidence issues. 

“I’m just a dope in a suit,” Steve replies. 

“A gorgeous dope in a suit.” 

They both laugh this time, and Steve finally garners up the energy to stretch. “You staying tonight?” 

“Sure. I’d like to.” 

“Better get rid of those pants, then.” Moving a little stiffly, Phil stands. Steve follows and takes his own advice. He’s been naked in front of so many people in his life that it doesn’t faze him any more – pants and briefs down, kick them away, done. Phil goes a little slower. Undoes his button. Then his zip. He’s shy, it’s hardly a striptease, but as he starts to push the waistband of his pants down Steve takes an appreciative look at the dark stain on the fabric of his boxer shorts. Maybe he could just lend a hand… 

Skin to skin, Phil’s rear end is firm and hard. He’s in good shape – consequence of his job, probably – and Steve can’t help but feel a little twinge of lust as he runs one exploratory finger up the crack of his backside. “You want to go again?” It’s an unprejudiced question. Curiosity, not disbelief. Well, Phil seems to knows all there is to know about him, so he’s probably not surprised.

“Yeah. If you want to.” 

“I want you to feel good,” Phil replies. It’s not strictly an answer to the question Steve asked, but it’s clear enough. They kiss again, slower this time, less of a desperate rush and more of an exploration. Steve’s hands explore too, up to Phil’s hips to pull him closer, down to his thighs to feel the straining muscles there as Phil pushes himself up on tiptoe to put his arms around his neck and kiss him with a kind of passion none of the dancing girls ever managed. 

Steve enjoys it. His cock enjoys it even more and soon it’s fully hard again. Thankfully Phil is perceptive enough to notice. “Sit down,” He says, hands spreading out, one on each of Steve’s shoulders. 

Steve sits on the edge of the bed. It’s fairly clear what Phil has in mind but it’s still astounding to watch the other man kneel in front of him and lean in close. It’s been a very long time since anyone did this for him. Wasn’t really the done thing, back in the day. Still seems kind of dirty, seedy. Feels amazing, though. 

He lets his head fall back as Phil makes a determined effort to fit his entire cock in his mouth in one go. Steve knows he’s big – and that that isn’t always a good thing when someone’s blowing you – but Phil is determined and only gags at the very last second, at the very last inch. “You don’t have to,” Steve begins, breathing in deeply. Phil clears his throat.

“Can’t stop me,” He replies. 

“Don’t want you to stop,” Steve says, letting out his breath in a fast, amused huff. 

“I won’t,” Phil says softly. With the proximity of his lips to the head of Steve’s cock, the words have exactly the same sensation as last time. Steve can’t help but shiver, clenching his hands in the blankets as Phil goes again, takes him all the way in and then pulls back slowly. He’s good. Better than good, mind-blowing. 

“Fuck,” Steve says, spreading his legs wider instinctively. 

“Shh,” Phil says back. He takes Steve cock in hand, jerks it a couple of times, and kisses his way up and down it like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had between his lips. Moans softly as he sucks on the head, and then Steve is the one moaning as Phil’s tongue swirls over just the right place and makes him jerk his hips up in appreciation, gasping. 

“It’s good?” 

“Yes! Goddamn yes!” 

Soon it’s all Steve can do to not grab Phil by the shoulders and just fuck his mouth. He’s so tense, so unbearably wound up, shaking with exertion as he twists the blankets harder and harder in his fists. “Phil!” He cries. “Fuck, _Phil_!” 

This time Phil doesn’t even respond – he just carries on sucking, licking, kissing, never letting up for a second. Steve feels his body stiffening as he gets closer and closer, muscles locking, pulse screaming in his ears, and he’s so close, so fucking close and when he comes he doesn’t even try to contain the guttural shout that bursts out. The pleasure is dizzying and he finds he can’t even sit up straight any more. He flops back onto the mattress, boneless and gasping for breath, and he’s only vaguely aware when Phil climbs up to sit next to him. 

“You okay?”

“Uh?” Gentle fingers stroke his cheek. 

“I’ve never seen you shaking before.” 

Steve licks his dry lips. “It’s been a while.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” Phil sounds amused again, but this time Steve is determined to explain. 

“I used to sleep around,” He begins. Realises it sounds bad. Carries on anyway. “I need sex. All the time. Back in the forties it was fine, but now? They put it in the papers. People sell their stories. I can’t…trust anybody.” He exhales, inhales. He can feel his pulse thudding in his fingertips. He waits. 

“I didn’t realise.” And then: “Don’t worry, I won’t be selling your secrets to the press. I’m allergic to journalists.” 

“I knew I could trust you anyway,” Steve replies, opening his eyes. “You’ve had my back ever since they dug me up.” 

“You were my hero. And you still are. You’re…” Phil smiles. “You’re a great guy.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Steve replies, feeling embarrassed but also flattered. “In the suit and out of it.” 

“Well, I like to keep fit.” Phil hesitates, shrugs lightly. “You never know when an angry Norse god might turn up and stab you half to death.” He looks down, and Steve follows his gaze. The scar Loki left has faded some, but it’s still obvious. He reaches up, runs his now-clumsy fingers over the raised flesh as Phil carries on. “At least it was only half to death. It wouldn’t have been a very dignified end, being killed by a man in leather trousers.” 

It should be funny, but Steve can still remember how sick he felt when he found out Phil Coulson was dead and how angry he was to find out later that he was very much alive. “I still haven’t forgiven Fury for letting us all think Loki had killed you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Phil’s fingers tease through his hair. “I was unconscious at the time. If I’d been awake I would have objected.” 

Steve feels suddenly protective. He shifts himself, wraps his arms around Phil, presses his face against his stomach. It’s a little uncomfortable. Awkward. But Phil still smells nice and he’s warm and Steve realises that he’s quite tired, after everything. He gives a hum of approval as Phil resumes stroking his hair, nuzzling at him in affection. 

When he wakes up he’s nestled against Phil’s side and the lights are out. The clock tells him it’s just shy of five in the morning – about the time he would normally get up and go out for a run – but he feels absolutely no desire to move. Sighing with happiness, he recognises the feeling of satiation – and the commensurate lack of agitation and tension. Warm, happy, he snuggles in closer and closes his eyes again. Smiling against Phil’s skin, he reflects that the modern age isn’t actually as bad as he’d previously thought…


End file.
